


Apportionate Gloaming

by Arizonacolleen



Series: Sophie Hollander Guinevere Series [14]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 17:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16581266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arizonacolleen/pseuds/Arizonacolleen
Summary: Events following the beginning of Kingsman: The Secret Service





	Apportionate Gloaming

It had been a terrible day for Harry Hart. He remained in the office to await possible mission orders after a protest in Kiev erupted into police violence, leaving hundreds injured. When none came, he thought to take a moment in the office of the Department of Grail Pursuit: a silly ritual he sometimes indulged when he found himself missing his wife. This effort was interrupted, howbeit, by the surprise arrival of an extraction team in the underground corridor. At first, Harry busied himself with a file to deflect his actual purpose there but his attention was drawn to the chatter he heard, followed by the appearance of Merlin at the threshold of sickbay. As the body bag was carried through it, Merlin shot him a stern and mournful look and Harry’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he agonized at the thought that it might be his Sophie.  
Harry then swallowed, composed his dizziness, and stepped over to find out. 

Merlin took a step forward, intercepting Harry at the door. “Best you remain here,” Merlin instructed, “until he has been reassembled.” Harry looked up at him, horrified at the description, “ _he_ has been reassembled?” The sudden and comforting acknowledgment that his wife was still sound, wherever she might be, left Harry deeply ashamed. “Who?” he asked, returning his focus to Merlin. Merlin removed his glasses, crestfallen as he deeply sighed, “James.” In death, Kingsman were always referred to by their Christian names. As quickly as Harry’s relief swept over him, it was replaced with the devastating weight of loss. James had been a dear friend to Harry, and also to his beloved. Harry only hoped the news failed to travel as quickly as it normally did, for her sake. “Sophie’s going to be crushed,” he admitted softly. Merlin nodded softly, “Aye, as am I.” Harry offered him a sympathetic nod before leaving him to his work and returning to the shop, bound for home. 

 

Harry sat as his desk, sipping his scotch slowly by the light of the single lamp across the room when the telephone rang. Puzzled, he looked over the the small clock beside the lamp:

_1:03_

Harry blinked a few times, sat up and loosened his tie before lifting the receiver. A bright voice recording on the other end greeted him as it began. “You have a international call from,” the recording began as Harry listened, only to sit up when he heard bird calls instead of a name at the greeting. “Would you like to accept the charges?” the recording continued as Harry grasped the receiver and replied aloud, “Yes, please.” There was a moment’s silence and Harry listened intently when her voice softly broke the static and calm.   
“Is it true?” she asked, her brokenhearted hush near a whimper.

“My love,” Harry said softly, “where are you?”   
He listened to the silence before Sophie replied a second, slower time, “Harry. Is it true?”   
“I am terribly sorry Canary,” he replied, “It is true.”  
Then Harry Hart sat listening as Sophie wept on the other end of the line, powerless to ease her woe. It was a sound Harry would have stepped in front of a black cab to stop. “Canary,” he gently coaxed, “where are you? Are you safe? Would you take a nice, deep breath for me?”  
Harry listened as Sophie attempted to take a broken breath, softly gasping as her crying slowly subsided. Another few breaths, and if she continued to weep it seemed to fade to silence.   
“I’m in the bathtub,” Sophie answered him at last, “not in a bath, just in the bathtub. I’m just sitting here in the empty bathtub.”

Her response confused Harry, but he said nothing on the matter, instead allowing her to find her words. “I just saw him,” Sophie acknowledged, her voice developing a slight rasp through her tears, “it doesn’t seem real.” Sophie rested her temple against the cool wall of the bathtub, wrapping her sweater around her waist with an audible sniff. “You just saw him?” Harry queried, “Certainly not since I’ve seen you?” Harry drained his glass, reaching for the decanter he brought into the office with him to refresh it as he listened.   
“No, it was over Christmas,” Sophie explained, “James invited me to Norwich with his family so I wouldn’t be alone, but I declined. I wanted to spend the holiday with you undisturbed.” Harry blushed, remembering her secret ritual as he listened to the harmony of her voice. “Still, he did take me to a Christmas party so I wouldn’t stay inside the entire holiday,” Sophie remembered, a slight laugh trapping in her throat, “We took third place in the dance off.”

“I’m sorry I missed that,” Harry mused, only to hear Sophie’s soft sob return on the line.   
“He tried to tell me he loved me, Harry,” she confessed, her tears returning, “but I didn’t let him. I left him there and now he’s gone.” Harry stared up at the wall of covers, each reminding him of a previous triumph as he lamented the day’s events. His silence worried Sophie and she added hastily, “Not that he wasn’t a complete gentleman, Harry. It wasn’t like that.” Sophie sniffed loudly and cleared her throat as she explained, “He said because it had been ten years and nothing changed, he just thought I should know. As a friend.”  
“Why did you stop him?” Harry asked cautiously.  
“I didn’t want to create a row between the two most important men in my life,” Sophie answered simply, “or between such good friends. I told him you told me - that I knew, which stopped him.”

Sophie sighed, a barely audible whimper escaping her. “Please don’t be cross with him,” she requested meekly, “he did not mean anything untoward.”   
“How could I be cross with him?” Harry asked innocently, “It’s well-known that every man of any discernible intelligence and taste in London is in love with you.” Harry smirked slightly, sipping his scotch as Sophie scoffed loudly at his remark, “I’d be reduced to fisticuffs in the streets were I to take offense at those so beguiled by your loveliness.”   
“You ridiculous man,” Sophie cooed, her voice notably brighter. Harry smiled upon hearing it.  
“When you were in Korea, it wasn’t me who discovered your code,” Harry admitted, “James brought it to me, and covered for me when I went to you. He was a brilliant friend. I am grateful he was there with you when I couldn’t be.” Harry sighed, tipping back the last of his drink.

“He thought the world of you,” Sophie offered gently, noting the sadness in her husband’s voice. She held the receiver, drawing her knees up and hugging them to her chest as she listened to his movements on the line. Harry set the glass on his desk, looking across as he swiveled in his office chair with a huff. Sophie could tell he was a bit drunk from his tone, but said nothing. “And now…” he said, “I have to elect a candidate to replace him.” Harry tapped a stack of folders on his desk as he said it, clearly frustrated with the responsibility.   
“I cannot relate,” Sophie replied, “I’ve never been allowed that particular privilege.”  
“I would not wish it upon you, Canary,” Harry disclosed, “it can prove quite an arduous task.”  
“You always choose brilliantly,” Sophie assured him, but Harry gazed over his shoulder at the stack on folders and sighed, exhausted at the notion. He didn’t wish to consider the task at present.

“Where are you?” Harry asked her, hoping to lighten the mood.   
Sophie idly attempted to straighten the worn phone cord, only to have it coil in another spot. “I’m just outside a place called Eden, Washington,” she answered, “It is a pit, Harry. I’m tracking possible cult activities, and it’s a perfect fit for one out here. There’s no internet to speak of, and practically no one has a mobile. That’s why I had to call you like this.” As she acknowledged this, Sophie gasped, pulling her interwoven fingers from the phone cord and clutching her face. “Good Lord,” she exclaimed, “this is a trunk call! Harry, this must be costing you an absolute fortune!” Harry grinned as his wife fretted in his ear, taking a wicked moment to bask in it before replying with a kind but resolute, “I don’t care at all about that.” His stern response rendered Sophie to quiet, and for a moment they both sat holding their phones in silence. 

“I’m glad you called,” Harry said, letting his words fall to silence for a moment before he confided in her, “to my great shame, when his extraction arrived, I found myself seized with fear only to be relieved to discover it was not you.” Sophie listened as Harry poured his grief upon the floor, wishing only to be there with him in that moment. “You had been on my mind all day,” Harry explained, “if fact, I was only in that corridor because I thought to pop into your office for a moment of quiet reflection when he arrived.” Harry took a deep breath, exhaling heavily into the receiver as Sophie pressed hers to her ear. “My love…” she whispered adoringly, comfortingly.  
“My breath caught in my throat, I became dizzy, and what was a simple case of missing you grew until I couldn’t stand it, Canary.” Harry paused, furrowing his brow in his chagrin.  
“You’re too hard on yourself,” Sophie offered, “We often think of loved ones after a loss.”

“I am deeply sorry about James,” Harry said, “but as I sit here thinking of him and wanting answers, I’m still thinking of you. I want to hold you. I want to kiss you and look into your eyes and smell your lovely hair.” Harry poured another dram of scotch, pausing to take a sip as Sophie listened. “Then, as I’m sitting here in the dark, the telephone rings and it’s you,” Harry said sweetly, “filling my ear with your lovely voice and lifting my spirits with your presence. Just when I most needed to hear that you were safe, you came to me. How did you know, Canary?”  
There was a slight slur in Harry’s voice as he asked, making Sophie’s heart ache as she heard it. “I thought of Lee,” she admitted, “I remember how your spirits were lifted when you returned home and I was there.” Sophie sniffed once, holding the phone tightly, “I thought it might help.”  
“Oh my dearest one,” Harry replied, “it has, tremendously.”

“I wish I was with you,” Sophie offered, “but it will be six months at least before I’m finished here.” Sophie lifted, sitting along the side of the bath nearer the small heater in her bath. “I’m going to miss James’ funeral,” she lamented, “I miss everything, always so far away.”  
“You...are doing noble work,” Harry reminded her, sitting up in his swivel chair, “James would understand if anyone would. Try not to worry yourself.” Harry paused to finish his scotch when his wife responded in a tone he seldom heard from her. Sharp, and with a tinge of vindictiveness, Sophie called to him, “Harry? Find out who is responsible for this.”  
Harry swallowed hard as he heard her chilling request, surprisingly aroused at the hearing it.   
“I will,” he assured her, “you have my word.”   
There was a charged moment which passed between them, this vow easing both of their woes.

“It’s late,” Sophie broached, shifting the subject and beginning the closure of the call. Harry looked at the clock, noting the late hour as he replied, “Is it?”   
“You know it is my love,” Sophie replied, “I want you to wash your face and drink a full glass of water before bed. You wouldn’t wish a headache come morning, especially if you are toasting him.” Her instruction, dense with her adoration, made Harry smile as he listened dutifully.  
“I will Canary,” he assured her, standing and rounding his desk as he stretched the phone cord, “I love you Sophie. Thank you for calling.”   
“Thank you for loving me,” Sophie countered, “twenty years is an awfully long time to be lucky.”  
“I don’t like luck,” Harry replied, “luck runs out eventually. True love is eternal.”   
“Eternal,” Sophie scoffed, “that makes twenty years sound like nothing at all.”

Harry smiled, swaying slightly from the combination of scotch and fondness as he leaned against his desk. “It’s a beginning,” he assured her tenderly. Some 4,900 miles away, Sophie smiled as she looked out of the small bathroom window and up at the half moon above them both. “Goodnight Harry,” she said softly.  
“Goodnight Sophie,” he replied sweetly, “Be safe out there.”  
“Always,” she replied, lowering the receiver and hanging it up. She looked back out the window before seeking a cup of tea. With the kettle on the stovetop, she again wept for her friend.  
Harry rested the receiver against his chin for a moment, turning her words over in his mind when something jumped out at him. Pushing the stack of prospects out of the way, he turned back to his desk and opened his laptop. 

“Lee Unwyn…” he mumbled to himself, typing quickly in the darkened room.


End file.
